


pure, as i wanna be

by untruth



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: 5+1 Things, Age Regression/De-Aging, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Across The Universe: Dangan Salmon Team, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untruth/pseuds/untruth
Summary: It all started with some relatively simple presents. Normal, even. So how did the two of them end up walking hand-in-hand, to a path laced with degeneracy, uncertain feelings, and questionable relationship dynamics?Or, the 5 times Shuichi initiates a change within Kokichi, and the 1 time Kokichi does.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	1. one - electric tempest

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags before continuing or commenting.

“Oh, I brought you something,” is a sentence that immediately burns itself into Kokichi’s hippocampus. Bright, and center, an undeniable proof of ‘Shuichi Saihara thinks about me’. Outside of all the other evidence, like spending a date ticket. Such actions aren't exactly special, though, and the flimsy pieces of paper themselves are hardly exclusive in this man-made (bear-made?) birdcage. 

Two questions, then: what the fuck, and why the fuck. Of course, Kokichi’s reply is absolute nonsense, as nothing else would be appropriate. 

“Wait, don’t tell me! Let me guess. Is it the blood transfusion I ordered? Angie was supposed to! And, you know, I think I’m long overdue for it, I’m actually on the verge of passing out, I’m getting, feeling pretty wo _ooo_ ozy-”

Shuichi, otherwise ignoring him, presents a wrapped gift in front of Kokichi’s face. Once he’s freed said gift from his hammer space, anyway. “Here,” he dryly interjects. “Open it?”

“…I did not know our kind, ursus overlord would willingly give us wrapping paper,” Kokichi responds. Because, all of this is certainly a new development, but he can’t let Shuichi _know that_.

“Kokichi,” he says, tone dripping with impatience. 

“I’m opening it, I’m opening it! Sheesh, is it actual meds or something? Are you Balto? Who’s the sick kid, Kaito?”

All of these questions, and surely many more, are asked as Kokichi’s shaking hands attempt undo the precise wrapping paper. Even Shuichi’s wrapping skills are perfect. A life-saver for Christmas times, in their bleak together-future. Does he use the Santa Claus wrap? Or is he more of a wintry atmosphere kind of guy? Kokichi doesn’t know. Maybe Shuichi actually hates the cold.

When, in the span of this rapidly dying conversation, is it a good time to ask what Shuichi’s favorite season is?

“It’s summer,” Kokichi says, largely to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kokichi fibs, staring down at a pristine water gun. The loud, bold marketing declares that it’s called an _Electric Tempest_. Hopefully it doesn’t need any batteries. Maybe he can just hijack the ones from his television remote. 

“Nothing at all?” Shuichi prods. Kokichi, who is busily searching over the box art for the instructions and a printed manual, is completely oblivious to the curiosity painted vividly on Shuichi’s face.

“Eeeeeh. This just reminds me of better, hotter days, like the ones I used to have with my aunt. On her peach farm, to be specific.” Damn, it does need batteries. Unfortunate. 

“Kokichi, you didn’t… spray her with the water gun, did you?”

“Nah, even for me that would be stupid.” Fully satisfied, if a tad disappointed, Kokichi tucks the toy underneath his armpit. “See, I was sent to peach farm-boot camp because of my bad grades. Thanks for resurfacing those horrible memories, Shuichi!”

Very unaffected, totally not dismayed, Shuichi splutters. “Ah- hang on, but- you’re smiling?”

“How dare you! I am not.” With his free hand, Kokichi pokes at the upward tilt of his lips. “This is an Ouma Family™ branded grimace. Although, I can see why you’d be mistaken. You’ve only unlocked three out of my thirty-thousand-unique and specialized expressions, to be honest.”

Shuichi’s expression fluxes. To bemused, outraged, and various other extreme emotions before it settles on quiet acceptance. “Guess I have a lot of work to do.”

“Yep yep! Can I leave now?” Like he needs permission. But who knows! Frankly, the present itself is incredibly uncharacteristic of Shuichi. Perhaps there's a tracker implemented in it somewhere, or a recording device? Very typical stalker, obsessive behavior. Or it's a gag gift, intentionally unusable. Shuichi could be trying to get a reaction out of him. 

How fun! 

Regardless, Kokichi never requires actual answers, and he spins on his heel to leave.

Only to leave, because he's immediately interrupted.

“Wait!”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” God, that whine is aggravating, even to his own ears. In respecting a nonverbal wish of _not_ inflecting an early case of auditory processing disorder in both present parties, Kokichi's volume lowers. “What is it? You know I have a very important day of tending to the overgrowing vegetation in Gonta's lab.”

“That- that is definitely a lie,” Shuichi coughs, betraying the slightest bit of him being - unsure. A rarity.

“Ya got me! But that lie has a time limit. If you don't hurry up, the precious seconds it granted, in the manner of extending this conversation, will dry.”

“Okay! Well, Before you go…” He smooths out his arm. Probably lowering an aggravated vein, or something. Maybe a nervous tic of his. “I’m sorry I reminded you of something so awful, Kokichi.”

Kokichi blanks. That comment was a small eternity ago, and it was such an aside. Goes to show that he's one straight-laced detective. “You mean the weekends I spent at grandmother’s apple cider factory? No way. Best days of my life.”

Shuichi, head positively spinning in an oddly circular orbit at this point, quickly gives up the finer details of this line of questioning. “Well, you aren’t going to relieve the more- how do I put this- chaotic aspects of those summers?” 

“Hummmm," he hums, humming out a loud 'hum' humming noise. 

All of Shuichi's restraint must go to not rolling his eyes, as the strain instead comes out in his voice. “Can we compromise by you _not_ soaking Tsumugi down to her delicates?”

“Okay!” In one swift motion, Kokichi raises both pinkies and twists them together. Self pinky-promise. “I won’t show off her tighty-whities!”

“How about _everyone’s_ tighty-whities?”

“Woah, Shuichi! You wear granny panties? You’re either a virgin or a mommy’s boy if you’re still wearing those…”

“If you expose anyone’s, ah, indecencies, I’m not testifying for you, you know.”

“This is so mean. Shuichi, if you were going to place leverages on _my_ present,” Kokichi sniffs, in the most believably hurt way he can muster, “I don't really understand why would you give me it anyway.” And in a show of no take-backies, he brings the box further. Yes, to be coated with his sweat and his hair. Either Kokichi gets to keep it or Shuichi receives a Kokichi-scented water gun. Fair’s fair. Think of him and smell of him at the same time.

“It looked like something you’d enjoy,” Shuichi answers, way too blunt and honest. Especially when he’s talking to Kokichi. “Sure, for _nefarious_ purposes, but I don't know beyond that. I guess I thought you’d get a kick out of it?”

He has no rights, sounding so dejected. All because Kokichi doesn't liku his giftu.

Fuuuuuck.

“God, stop looking at me like I killed your dog.” Bleh. Why would he even think of that? What a relationship dealbreaker. If Shuichi is a ‘dog person,’ which is to say ‘not a person at all,’ this totally realist, blooming relationship is immediately over. His status as a heartbreaker will reign supreme, in line with his ultimate talent.

“Kokichi…”

Godddddddddd.

Fine. Kokichi will rescind. Just a little. A small inch.

“That was a lie, earlier, y’know. Give me more of these,” he says. “Or else,” he adds. Unthinkingly. Blissfully unaware of the consequences-ingly. 

Nevertheless, Shuichi smiles. That makes all the future injustices worth it, if but for a moment. Thus, without any particular fanfare at all, Kokichi unknowingly descends on a road of impending madness. All with a skip in his step, day a bit brighter at the prospect of making Mr. Gloomy grin. 


	2. two - candy cigarette

“Y’know, gambling’s not good for the baby.”

Two things happen in rapid succession. Shuichi grunts in agreement. And then Shuichi has a violent doubletake. 

“ _What baby_?” 

“You,” Kokichi lazily points, a sole finger pointed to a singular Shuichi, who is currently buried waist-high via a mixture of monocoins and casino coins. Which are there as a direct result of his frivolous gambling. “Aren’t you a little too young for that?” 

Shuichi actually, for real, rolls his eyes this time. “I don’t think you’re that much older than me, Kokichi.”

After completing devastating, totally annihilating Kokichi via a classically ageist insult, Shuichi returns to the vibrant slots.

Lucky him; it looks - and sounds - as though he won some free spins. He’s still got a foot in the darkness - of gambling - and the other in the rollerskate that Kokichi personally skates on life with. Even luckier for him, present day Kokichi’s fine with a half-and-half communication sesh. Everyone else is boring. 

Oh, and it’s the middle of the night. That might have something to do with the lack of diversified conversation partners.

“Soooo, what’s on the Shumai menu?”

Almost on reflex, Shuichi begins to teethe on his own lip. “I’ve told you not to call me that, and…” The free spins come to an abrupt, quiet end. With practically no hesitation, Shuichi digs into his pockets, and mindlessly inserts another round of max betting. “Do you mean what I’m trying to purchase?”

“Don’t be mean, ‘cuz I’ve told you time and time again that I suffer from deliberating short-term memory loss.”

In response - either to this current round giving him no receive or Kokichi’s quip - Shuichi sighs. In goes another fruitless seven coins.

How much harder does Kokichi have to dig? Where is he going to find purchase in Shuichi's waning patience? “But, yeah, doi, unless there’s a real restaurant here! Is there? Ooh, let’s go. Even once we get out of here. But remember, it has to be gluten-free. Since, you know, I have chronic celiac disease…”

“Isn’t chronic already implied when it’s a disease? Anyway, sure.”

“Hey, it’s pretty rude to correct the- did you say yes?”

“Yes?” Shuichi blinks away the neon lights, addressing Kokichi in his entirety. “Yes, I said yes.”

“Oh.” A funny feeling, an emotion Kokichi’s never processed nor registered before, curls up in his stomach. “Well then. As as a heads-up, if it’s not certified 3 stars by Michelin, I legally cannot attend the fine dinery. Such marketability and elite status ties in heavily with the reputation of my organization.” 

“I’ll see what strings I can pull,” Shuichi responds, sounding just as light. That is, until, he groans. “Ugh.”

“Why, is Shuichi out of coins?” How weird that Kokichi can’t mockingly point at his lack of gambling coins. Which he is physically unable to, as a literal wall of coins separate them. “Whatever will you do now?” _Like, I don’t know, and I’m just throwing spaghetti to the wall hoping that it sticks... like, spend time with me?_

“I’ve got a headache,” Shuichi quietly admits. “But I don’t really want to… stop…?” His fingers do a weird kinda spasm around his pants. Reminiscent of a claw, a motion that very loudly states, _I am trying super duper hard to fight off this ingrained muscle memory._

“…when’s the last time you had some water, Shuichi?”

His non-answer is a drastically plain, ‘uhhhhh,’ as what remaining neural wires within Shuichi’s brain fail to comprehend the concept of ‘water’ or ‘nutrition’ or literally any actions necessary for survival and not pleasure.

Gamblin’! 

Kokichi slow-blinks at such a sorry sight. “Okay,” he decides, slightly miffed given that Shuichi failed to return the iconic cat-certified affection gesture. “Shuichi, up we go.”

Maybe Shuichi's brain is rattled, too; Kokichi’s already wrung their arms together before he protests. “But the coins!” Weakly, Kokichi should define. Weakly protests. 

“They'll be fine, probably,” Kokichi brings his hand up to his mouth. A blatant mimicry of Shuichi in depth, except for the fact that Kokichi is faux thinking. “Unless you're worried that they're gonna sprout legs.”

“No, Kokichi, that's not exactly what I'm concerned about.” Fah! First, unresponsive to Kokichi showcasing his feline ancestry, and now this? Maybe he should apply to work for some megacorp's support staff, because Shuichi _clearly_ has no sense of humor. At least he's rather pliant to Kokichi dragging him up, and away, from the fruits of his labor and upstairs.

Even if agonizingly slowly. One-step, two-step...

“Well, what I mean is that nobody else comes down here.” What was that? That sentence was too nice to come out of Kokichi Ouma's mouth. Time to change that! “I dunno if you know, but this casino is just a hallucination concocted by your stress-addled cortex!” Kokichi turns his head, in what is supposed to be a coy-if-comforting gesture. “Ah, don’t worry though, I’m real.” He winks; Kokichi feels some sleep debris leave his eyelids. Gross. 

Either Shuichi is too attuned to the vivid otherworldly colors of the lottery realm to notice the decently sized chunks of sleep leaving Kokichi’s eyes… oooor he just doesn’t care. Thank goodness. It would be a messy crime scene if a murder occurred in the middle of the staircase. “I know that’s a lie, because Kaito certainly plays, doesn't he?”

Three steps. Reminds him of 'strep' - hey, why do his thoughts run so morbid whenever he's in close contact with Shuichi? “Good thing I’ve set him up to hassle Ryoma over his bloodbattered career-ending one-sided tennis match!” Yeesh. 

“Kokichi.”

“Shuichi.”

Not frazzled whatsoever, Shuichi inhales. “You know, if you keep bothering-”

“Who? Kaito? What, are you trying to pressure me into trying him nicely?” Kokichi flutters his eyelashes, looking upwards, to his captive. 

“Let me finish,” would it kill Shuichi to say 'please'? Perhaps. “No, while it would be nice for you to be nice to Kaito for a change… I’m more worried that if you keep bothering Ryoma like that, you may end up regretting it.”

“Please! My life plan is to live life without regrets! That why I got this tattoo.”

Shuichi covers his mouth. Thinking, most likely. “…Kokichi, why would you have a tattoo?”

“Comes with the initiation into the gang.” Another fun, accurate synonym for his prank squad. 'Gang,' which is like a 'group,' which is like a 'business,' which is like the 'mafia,' so all of these words are apt to describe Kokichi's tensome rag-tag group of misfits. Wait, wasn't he talking about his nonexistent tattoo? Shuichi probably wants to know what it looks like. “Can’t show you, though, ‘cuz it’s somewhere really naughty, indecent-” 

A noticeably sharp, shaky inhale as compared to earlier; heh, _that_ joke caught him off-guard. “Alright, I’ve heard enough-”

“- _and_ the artist fucked it up. Or I was inebriated! Because it actually says ‘no ragrets,’ you see.”

“ _Do I see?_ ” Shuichi's teeth are grinding against each other! How cute, Kokichi can hear the 'crinkling' noise from his enamel crunching.

“Shuichi! You wanna see my tramp stamp? C’mon, be a gentleman, at least take me out to dinner first!”

Then, the world goes white for a split-second. Did Shuichi just -

\- smack him upside the head? If the ringing in his ears is any indication, yes. “Ow! That hurt!” Shuichi is unresponsive to his wash of alligator tears. Fine then. “I’m calling the cops!”

“Good time to remember that I am the cops.”

“Oh.” Kokichi’s violent weeps still immediately. That’s true, huh. “Makes sense. All cops are bastards.”

Both of Shuichi’s eyebrows raise, and they nearly touch his hairline. “What? What are you talking about?” Right now? Right now, all Kokichi wants to talk about his weird middle-of-the-forehead hairline. No wonder his bangs are so freakishly long. 

Back to tugging him along, though. “What do you think I’m talking about?”

“I wasn’t born out of wedlock, Kokichi. My mother and father were married for half a decade before I was born.”

“It was a joke,” _but you’re not laughing, so whatever._ “Sheesh. Tell me more about your parents.”

Then, genuinely; “Do you want me to?” 

“…eh?” What an awkward time to finish ascending the staircase. Oh, and their arms are still interlocked, too…

Shuichi doesn’t free his own arm, however, and looks at Kokichi with unnecessary intensity. “Do you want to hear more about them, or was that another lie?”

How did Kokichi get in the hot seat? Why, of all subjects, is Shuichi getting weirdly prickly about parents? Maybe he has a tragic backstory. Oh, christ, why did he invite this landmine of a conversation. 

What Kokichi says is not reminiscent of any of those worries. “Sure! Spill out your guts, Shuichi. Despite my looks, I’m very accomplished as I’m the country’s first surgeon _and_ psychiatrist. I can both patch up your insides and your head! Go on, tell my, my ears are aching to hear about your family tree.”

“…” Shuichi is unconvinced. Is he waiting for something?

“Ah, that’s a lie,” Kokichi finishes. Then, Shuichi snorts to himself. He was seriously expecting the ‘uso dayo’ - Kokichi’s gotta step up his game, apparently.

“What part? The dual surgeon and psychiatrist, or listening to me talk?”

Kokichi shrugs. If he could, he’d swing his arms behind his head. “Who knoooooows? Get on with it. Unless you’re backing out, that is…”

“Isn’t a bit late to be so serious?”

“So you’ve chosen to back out!” How cowardly. A disapproving Kokichi waggles a finger in front of Shuichi’s face. “Unfortunately for you, the latter choice always involves jumping off a predetermined step off a ladder. Ready, Shuichi?”

Shuichi merely rolls with the punches. Breezily, “I’ll take a rain check on that,” he says, while removing his arm! Is he really trying to die? Hell, now his forearm feels all cool without it brushing against Shuichi’s… “Here, Kokichi, you can take this _instead_ of my life.”

“Eh?” Pausing his developing murder schemes - temporarily - Kokichi stares at the present. Unwrapped, this time. “Are these those weird fake cigarettes? You aren’t confusing me for another killer ‘round here, are you?”

“Ano…” Upon realizing, Shuichi loudly sighs. That’s twice in a night; less than usual. “No, these really are for you. Ryoma’s gotten plenty, but I’ll tell him you thought of him.”

“Don’t you dare.” Willfully linking the word mindful? With Kokichi? This man is a bastard.

His bashful smile is the only proof Shuichi heard him. Otherwise, he’s ignoring the quiet threat. “Do you like them?”

To or to not like a gift. Given that it’s from Shuichi, that’s a few pluses right there, but candy? And the funky texture… “I don’t hate them,” Kokichi admits. “I loathe them,” Kokichi lies. 

“Oh. I’m - sorry.” Wilting in front of him, goddammit; is Shuichi purposefully a master at the art of the guilt trip, or is he in constant puppymode? “I thought-”

“This is another gift you thought I’d get some laughs out of, eh? Fine, let’s see you laugh,” and without letting Shuichi interject, Kokichi shakily unwraps a sugary nicotine substitute. _Just don’t think about what you’re putting in your mouth, just don’t think about it._ “M-mmpf.”

The fucker’s absolutely delighted. Kokichi doesn’t even have to look at Shuichi.

“Mhrhg.” For good measure, and because Kokichi is an abject believer in the nature of humanity’s stupidity, he starts letting the candy fall further down his tongue.

“Taste that bad?” 

“Mmmn.”

“Please tell me you're not swallowing it.”

“Mhm!”

“Kokichi, just spit it out!” There’s the almost-wheeze of a held back laugh; he is enjoying Kokichi’s display of suffering. Speaking of which, Kokichi’s about to inhale the cigarette. “Your face is turning blue!” 

“Kkkgh!” He was aiming for purple, but life is better colored than that. Without a second thought, Kokichi hacks up the candy onto the carpet. “Kaaaah. Hah. Hah,” and although Kokichi’s hand flew to his throat, he sees Shuichi’s own hand hover uncertainly around his shoulder. “Gggot… you…”

Shuichi’s hand clasps around Kokichi’s shoulder. “And I’ve got _you_. Let’s head back to the dorms.”

How romantic. “Hah, ‘ure not worried about the coins anymore.”

A beat passes. “If this was a whole ploy to make me forget about them-”

“Nishsishsi.” Alright. Jury’s out, but the general consensus is this: maybe Kokichi is, in fact, mindful. On occasion, or whatever. 

“You can be such a child sometimes.” Shuichi says that, almost thoughtfully; an unaware Kokichi, too enveloped in this feeling of concern, misses how Shuichi’s eyes glaze over. 

With that, the two of them make haste to the dormitories… and a plan begins to form within Shuichi’s mind. 


End file.
